


Three Months

by hillaryschu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Pining, Roommates, Smut, Swearing - do I have to tag for that?, What else do you tag basic smut with?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillaryschu/pseuds/hillaryschu
Summary: And so for three months now, Brienne has been Jaime’s flatmate. For three months they’ve been doing practically everything together. She’s been sitting across from him at breakfast, while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shovels cereal into his mouth. They’ve been carpooling to work—Jaime insisting on controlling the music, whether he is driving or not, and then talking over whatever he selects. They’ve met up with friends who give Brienne knowing looks that she blatantly ignores. For three months, Brienne’s been forced to watch Jaime putter around the apartment, sometimes in just a pair of low-slung sweatpants, golden hair sleep-mussed, arms stretching high above his head in an indecent display of tan skin and muscles. He’s always there, giving Brienne a hard time while also being gentle and supportive in a way that feels completely foreign. For three months now, Brienne has been steadily falling in love with him.[and then smut happens]
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 75
Kudos: 324





	Three Months

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is my first attempt at smut (please be kind). It's pretty soft for smut, but still feels like such a risk to write. I don't know what *I* have to add to the sexy world of J/B except maybe a little caught-masturbating wacky antics.
> 
> I was going to do something so that this piece wasn't tied to my main account (which is also basically tied to my name) but, fuck it. The world is burning down right now. Does anyone care if I'm writing sex scenes between made up characters? I hope not. We all need a hobby.
> 
> A universe of thanks to the ever-patient and generous [brynnmck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck) for all of her help on this. It was a huge lift to get it into the place it is now. Of course, if you are bored to sleep by it that's still my fault, not brynnmck's.
> 
> Okay, here goes [gulp].

Brienne sheds her clothes and pulls on sleep shorts and a worn Blackfish concert tee before climbing into her bed. She settles back into the giant mound of pillows, pulls her duvet up to her chest, and grabs her laptop off her bedside table. Pulling up WeirWatch, she navigates to the historic mini series she’s been anxious to check out. 

The series intro starts up—sweeping views of castle walls, knights in formation ready to fight, dragons swooping through the sky—but her mind is somewhere else. Well, her mind is on some _one_ else. Someone who would normally be sprawled out on the couch next to her, geeking out over the historical inaccuracies of the show, but he isn’t here.

He’s out tonight and she’s upset about it. And she’s upset that she’s upset about it. Lately it’s been increasingly difficult to ignore the growing feelings she has for her roommate. She’s been attempting to deal with it through avoidance and distraction, but it isn’t working. She grabs her cup of tea and stares into it as she takes a sip, willing the chamomile to calm her fraying nerves.

When Brienne moved across Westeros to take a coaching job at King Landing College, she'd made the mistake of telling Jaime Lannister that she was looking for a place to live. Jaime—her sort-of friend, fellow coach, massive fantasy crush person—had suggested she move into his large off-campus home. She'd known it was a bad idea but she hadn't been able to bring herself to say no. That had been just over three months ago. 

And so for three months now, Brienne has been Jaime’s flatmate. For three months they’ve been doing practically everything together. She’s been sitting across from him at breakfast, while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shovels cereal into his mouth. They’ve been carpooling to work—Jaime insisting on controlling the music, whether he is driving or not, and then talking over whatever he selects. They’ve met up with friends who give Brienne knowing looks that she blatantly ignores. For three months, Brienne’s been forced to watch Jaime putter around the apartment, sometimes in just a pair of low-slung sweatpants, golden hair sleep-mussed, arms stretching high above his head in an indecent display of tan skin and muscles. He’s always there, giving Brienne a hard time while also being gentle and supportive in a way that feels completely foreign. For three months now, Brienne has been steadily falling in love with him.

It’s been an absolute nightmare. Something has to change.

It’s late when Jaime gets home, the sound of the door opening and his keys dropping on the entryway table indicating his arrival. She hears a bang and string of curse words when he clearly stumbles over something. He had been out tonight with the other men’s team coaches, celebrating one of their birthdays. Her door is open and Jaime passes by on the way to his room. It seems to take him a minute to register that she’s up. He’s already cleared the doorframe before he’s backtracking to her—taking several exaggerated steps backwards, like he’s doing some sort of comedy bit. 

“You’re awake!”

“Yeah. I’m just starting that Long Night mini-series.” 

“Can I watch?”

“Here? In my room?” she starts—incredulous—but he’s already moving into her space. 

Jaime lifts the edge of her duvet and slides in next to her. Brienne shifts to the side, juggling her laptop as she makes room for him on her too-small bed, next to her too-large body. Jaime kind of nuzzles into her—turned on his side, while she’s on her back—and lets his head rest on her shoulder. He does it so naturally that it's as if it had happened a million times before. 

It has not.

“How was the party?” Brienne asks, quietly, over a slow part of the film. Jaime smells like soap mixed with a hint of sweat and alcohol from a night at the bar. 

“Well, ‘party’ is definitely a stretch, but it was all right.” His breath is warm on her neck. She keeps her eyes steadily fixed on her computer. “Addam fell asleep while trying to chat a guy up. Just fell asleep right where he was sitting. I think he drooled on the poor guy. I’m guessing he’s not the future Mr. Marbrand. For whatever reason, it made me think of when we met. What a fuck-up I was just trying to to talk to you.” Jaime laughs softly and wiggles in tighter next to her and she wonders how much he’s had to drink.

“I remember. You called me a wench.”

“I most definitely did not. I _asked_ if the wine was _French_.”

They met four years ago at the welcome reception of a collegiate coaching conference. Brienne had misheard Jaime and thought he was insulting her. She had dumped her drink over his head. He had spent the next three days explaining and apologizing to her in between panel discussions, workshops, and networking events. On the last day of the conference, during dinner, Jaime was called to stage to introduce the keynote speaker. While at the podium, he apologized to Brienne again—now _publicly_ —asking that she accept his apology and also maybe look into hearing aids. She'd been embarrassed but amused. 

When he'd asked for her business card later, she hadn't thought much of it and hadn't expected to hear from him. But he'd started reaching out. In the years after meeting, they would occasionally see each other at national events, but the bulk of their friendship was built over long distance—emails, texts and “likes” exchanged whenever one of them beat a rival or received some sort of distinction.

Whenever her phone lit up with a notification from Jaime, Brienne’s stomach would swoop and she’d have to take a calming breath and remind herself of the facts: she knows what she looks like and she knows what Jaime looks like. Despite being smart and kind, she knows how awkward and boring she can be while Jaime is sparkling and magnetic ( _if_ somewhat codependent and exceedingly irritating).

So she does the same thing laying in bed next to him then as she always used to do when he’d like an instagram photo of hers. She takes a steadying breath and mentally pulls up the list of ‘cons’ about herself and Jaime’s long, long list of ‘pros.’

They watch the rest of the show in silence, though any movement from Jaime seems to scream at Brienne. His forearm yells at her as he shifts to rest it on her chest. His hip hollers as it presses into her, his body fitting snugly along the length of hers. When he starts fiddling with the ends of her hair, she almost needs to cover her ears at the sound of his shouting fingertips. 

When the movie ends, Jaime stirs a little and she can feel him turn his face up to hers. She tips her head just a touch, to show that she is listening to whatever he’s about to say.

“I missed you tonight while I was out. It would have been better with you there. It’s always better with you there.”

Her head swivels toward him before she can stop it. They're inches apart. She can't read the expression on his face but she knows the look on hers is some combination of confusion and suspicion. She quickly covers it up with a smile, averts her gaze, and snaps her laptop shut. 

“I should get some sleep.”

He sighs and kisses her temple as he climbs out of her bed. He shuts the door behind him—leaving her alone to second guess everything. To replay the entire interaction in her head. 

_“It’s always better with you there.” “I should get some sleep.”_ Gods, what a coward. 

If only she were a different girl. 

*****

She awakes in morning still thinking about it all and lays in bed for a while trying to avoid him. After a bit, she hears the exterior door to the apartment open and close, so she gets up and finds herself alone. She decides to take a shower to try and clear her head. 

Brienne lets the scalding water of the shower skate down her body as she tries, and fails, to wash away her frustration. _If only she were a different girl._

A different _kind_ of girl. A girl who looked like she came from the pages of a magazine, like Jaime does—a girl who was confident, soft and seductive. Were she that kind of girl, instead of telling him to leave her bed last night she might have turned her face towards his and given him a small, suggestive smile. Put her hand on his hip. He might have kissed her shoulder, blinking eyelashes tickling her freckled skin. 

If she were a different kind of girl, she might have run her hand up Jaime’s rib cage. She imagines what she might have seen in his eyes—heavy and smiling eyes, growing wide as her hand moved further up his muscled torso. She might have turned her whole body toward his—legs tangling beneath the covers—and pressed her hands to his face. She might have actually kissed him. She imagines how their tongues would touch and how she would run her hands down his cheeks, brushing along his beard, then around his neck and up into his hair, raking her blunt nails down the back of his head. She thinks about him pushing her backwards, rolling until his body is hovering over hers, and kissing her with more urgency, more passion. She imagines how it’d feel to have him trail kisses down her body—moving from her mouth to her jaw, to her neck, to her chest. 

In the shower, Brienne starts touching her breasts, teasing and pulling her nipples until they pebble. She imagines Jaime kissing her there, taking his time to pull each hard nipple into his mouth—licking and softly biting her sensitive skin as his hands roam her body. She starts to feel a little lightheaded.

Brienne normally tries _not_ to think of Jaime when she gets the urge to touch herself. She figures it just makes matters worse in the long run—tying that rush of intense feeling to him—but lately it’s been hard to think of anyone else. It’s been hard to picture anything besides his smirking green eyes, strong muscled arms, and perfect, upturned mouth. 

And now, as water skates down her body, she starts to imagine his beautiful mane of golden hair, streaked with bits of gray, moving toward the juncture of her thighs and she reaches between her legs. She can practically feel his mouth on her, hot and insistent, as she starts to move the tips of her fingers in light circles.

She rubs her hand faster and harder, imagining his beard scraping her sensitive skin. She can feel his tongue on her and his fingers inside her. She moves her hands and thinks of only him, and her pleasure peaks. Her knees go weak and she finds herself moaning and unconsciously calling out his name as she comes—“Jaime! Oh! Jaime.” Her vision goes white behind her eyelids and she has to brace herself so she doesn’t fall over. 

She bends forward against the cool shower tile—head resting on folded forearms and letting the water beat down on her back. She’s waiting for her heart rate to slow and her breath to even out. She never even hears the door open.

“Brienne? Did you call me?” 

“J-J-Jaime?” she manages to gasp out, breathy and uneven.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m. Fine.” She can’t seem to stop panting or to calm her heaving chest.

“Are you sure? You sound out of breath. What were you…oh!” She can almost _hear_ him putting the pieces together. “I, um…shit. I’m sorry. I’ll just…bye!” Brienne hears him mutter “fuck” under his breath, followed by the sound of the door closing. 

Fuck, indeed. 

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. How is this happening right now? She can’t— _no._ This is mortifying—devastating. She’s not only going to have to deal with this situation as soon as she leaves the bathroom—the awkwardness! embarrassment!—but also? What does it mean in the long run? Jaime now knowing she’s into him is going to ruin everything. Everything.

FUCK!

Brienne takes her time getting out of the shower and drying off—stalling as long as possible. When she finally comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in an enormous towel, she finds Jaime reclining on her bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Fabulous. She doesn’t move any further into the room—she just stands next to her dresser, clutching her towel to her chest. She hopes that he’ll go the route of pretending that nothing out of the ordinary happened, rather than…

“What’s going on? You look rather flushed.”

…taking the piss out of her. Of course. She steals herself for the coming onslaught of Jaime’s familiar teasing. 

“Well, I just took a hot shower, Jaime.” 

“I bet it was hot. I heard you call my name.” He’s wearing the most Jaime-ish shit-eating grin. She can barely handle it. She keeps her eyes on him, expression as blank as she can—challenging, despite the fact that she rarely ever _‘wins’_ these types of conversations with Jaime. Her banter’s not as quick or as sharp as his.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I was worried you had fallen,” he says with feigned concern.

“No, you weren’t,” she bites out.

“Why were you so out of breath?”

“I wasn’t out of breath,” she says flatly, defiantly, with shoulders squared and head held high.

“Really? Well, what were you thinking about in the shower?”

“I don’t know. Shower things.” She tries to say it like it’s obvious. Like it’s all normal and she wasn’t caught doing something illicit. At what point he’ll decide the sparring match is over, she doesn’t know, but they can often go back and forth like this for ages.

“Shower things…? Like…shampooing your hair?” As though he’s never heard of it. Like he does something else in the shower. But he’s sitting up now—leaning toward her. She’s worried he’s caught her in a trap but she can’t imagine what or how, and her resolve is sliding.

“Exactly, yes.”

“Washing your body?”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure.”

The expression on Jaime’s face shifts, but she can’t tell what he’s thinking. His eyes are narrowed and his brows drawn together a little. He looks like he’s playing a game—trying to read his opponent. He gets up and strides in her direction across the room and a thrill passes through her. She tries to back up to gain some ground but she runs into her dresser.

“Did you wash behind your ears?” he asks, as he reaches up, letting the fingers of his left hand graze the sensitive skin behind her ear. She realizes she’s staring at him wide-eyed and only breathing through her mouth, but she manages a simple nod. 

“Did you wash here?” His hand skates down her neck. “Here?” Fingers trail across her shoulder. “Here?” Running his hand down the length of her arm, he grabs her right hand and runs his thumb across her knuckles. With each “here?” she gives a single nod of her head—brow furrowed, lips trembling.

“And I didn’t hear you call my name?” He’s leaning in, his eyes dark and locked on hers.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know you were home,” she manages, feeling her heart beating even harder against her chest.

“Do you think about me when I’m not here? When you’re alone?” 

She feels hot, her whole body responding to Jaime’s nearness. She can feel herself getting wet—her cunt throbbing a little at his question. She has no idea what is happening but whatever it is, she wants it. She gives him another small nod. Jaime inhales sharply through his nose. 

“Jaime. I feel like I can’t breathe.” She says it like she’s scared. And maybe she is, a little.

His eyes almost seem to twinkle and his tongue swipes across his bottom lip so quickly she almost doesn’t see it. “Well, I’m afraid I’m about to make that a whole lot worse, B.”

His voice is a little rougher than normal and Brienne has about a half a second to be confused before Jaime’s hands are on her face, pulling her toward him. He kisses her, softly at first, pressing his lips warm and steady against her unyielding mouth. Eventually she starts to relax and they both start to move their lips a little. She’s imagined kissing him a million times but that doesn’t mean she has any idea what she’s doing. She tries to follow his lead, struggling to establish any sort of rhythm. It’s awkward but her heart is racing so fast that she doesn’t really have the wherewithal to be embarrassed.

Just as she’s feeling like she’s getting the hang of it, Jaime’s tongue traces across her upper lip. Her mouth opens in a slight gasp and he moves his tongue forward just a little bit more. Brienne mirrors his movements and their tongues touch. They start to move against each other and it’s an intense, animal feeling that Brienne has never experienced before. Heat starts to pool in her abdomen—a rush of desire flooding her body—and she feels high.

Jaime pulls back and Brienne is briefly frozen with insecurity. But instead of the look of regret she expects to see on his face, she sees what she _thinks_ is desire. He steps forward again and starts trailing kisses along her jawline and neck. When he gets to her collarbone, he presses the full weight of himself into her—pressing her back into her dresser. It feels like flames shoot across her skin as she realizes that she can feel him, hard, against her thigh. She's dizzy.

Brienne’s mind is spinning but it keeps catching on one thought: _I can’t do this if he doesn’t mean it._ If Jaime’s bored or he’s imagining someone else or he’s…high from some over-the-counter drugs or something…she can’t. She’s too far in love with him to risk it. 

She puts her hands on his chest and pushes him slightly away. 

“Jaime,” she says, breathless. “I can’t. I…”

“You want to stop?”

“No, but…”

“Oh, thank god. I’ve been dreaming about this for years. Living together has been torture.” His face is a mix of relief and mischief and he smiles with a little huff of air—an almost, but not-quite, laugh. He moves to resume kissing her, but her hands are firm on his chest.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Well, you wear very short shorts to bed, you know?” 

“My shorts?” she says—half a question, half a stunned statement. 

“All I can think about most days is how it would feel to have your never-ending legs wrapped around my hips.” He says this with dead seriousness, the teasing lilt gone from his voice. His gaze is hot and unwavering. 

“My legs.” 

“Yes, I think about your legs. And your back and your shoulders. Your lean hips and round ass. Your strong thighs…”

He pulls her hips toward his and slides a hand down her thigh. He tugs it up until she wraps the leg around his hip. The soft groan he emits triggers something in Brienne and she wraps her hands around his neck and kisses him, hard. Then she moves her hands up into his golden hair, scraping her nails along his scalp like she had imagined before. But as her arms raise, her towel slips down and gets caught around her middle, where Jaime’s hand is gripping her hip and her leg is wrapped around his ass—her small breasts and hard nipples on display.

She panics and scrambles to untangle her fingers from his hair. She moves to grab the towel but Jaime catches her hands in his. He interlaces their fingers and pushes her hands back near her shoulders. This little act of dominance makes heat pool in her stomach—the feeling that someone else can be in charge for once is thrilling. That by default of being big and strong, she doesn’t need to control everything. 

Jaime drops his head to start kissing her neck again and then moves down to her chest, trailing his tongue and teeth across her clavicle and down toward her small breasts. Her head falls back a little and she’s staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Her breath is coming out in pants as she tries, but fails, to connect all the dots. To see the whole picture, understand it all.

And then almost just like she imagined in the shower, he kisses her breast, pulling a nipple into his mouth. As he sucks, he bites down just a little and she lets out a small yelp. Holy fuck. He smiles up at her wickedly and resumes sucking on her other breast. It’s…she’s…oh…no. She was wrong. It’s different than she imagined—it’s more. It’s everything. Pleasure and desire fill her and start to push out fear. Push out the insecurity and doubt that she’d been holding onto until now. 

Jaime kisses his way back up to her mouth, and as he’s doing so, he yanks the towel away. He grabs her hips and hoists her up. Instinctively she wraps her legs around him and he starts backing them toward her bed. She can’t believe he can pick her up, and she makes a small sound of surprise.

“What, you didn’t think I could carry you? I’m strong enough.” He looks so pleased with himself she can’t help but smile.

Smirking and satisfied, he lays her down on the bed on her back. She feels exposed, but he pins her in place with his stare, green eyes gone dark. He slowly peels off his t-shirt and she’s never seen anything sexier in her entire life: the shifting planes of his muscles, honed by years of sport. It feels like there’s a heavy weight on her chest, making it hard to breathe as she watches him shed the last of his clothing.

“Hey? Are you sure?” he asks her, a small shadow of doubt clouding his features. 

Teeth nibbling on the corner of her bottom lip, eyes on his, she nods. Raising her eyebrows, she adds, “Are _you_ sure?”

“Me?” He says incredulously—eyes huge, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “I’ve been half in love with you since you dumped your gin and tonic on me. I’m all in.” He enunciates each word—a commitment that she can feel in her gut. His face is all intensity and hope, none of its usual mirth.

She knows she’s looking at him with a dumb, unblinking expression, but she’s floored. It all feels so unbelievable and overwhelming—but she _does_ believe him, and continues to tamp down her doubt. After a beat she manages to give him a sheepish smile and he beams from ear to ear. It’s blinding—radiant.

“Oh! Be right back!” He dashes off and she barely has time to comprehend him having left when he returns, holding up a condom. He tears open the foil packet, rolling the condom over his erect cock. He looks like a God standing there, hard with desire for her. He gives himself a couple of slow strokes, his eyes on her face the whole time—it steals her breath yet again _(how is she not dead from the lack of breathing?)_. Moving to the bed, he starts kissing up her body from ankle to abdomen to clavicle. When he gets to her mouth he kisses her with fervor tangling his tongue with hers. 

Brienne reaches down between them and takes him in her hand. He’s hot and hard and she feels powerful with her hand wrapped around his cock. She guides him into position, shifting her body a little to meet him. Jaime takes a small calming breath and then smiles just a little before his eyelids drop closed and he’s slowly pushing into her. She lets it out a tiny gasp as he enters her and he opens his eyes. He studies her face and it seems like he’s checking on her—making sure that this is still what she wants. He’s so beautiful.

She smiles and nods and he starts to move. He pulls back and surges forward again, setting a leisurely pace as he kisses her—first her mouth and then all over her face and neck. Intuition takes over and Brienne starts to rock her hips, matching Jaime’s unhurried rhythm. It’s always been obvious that Jaime is strong but she’s still awed as his muscles flex and move above her. He grips her thighs and pushes them higher, folding her in half a little as he drives deeper into her. She groans as she takes him into her body and the look on his face is nothing but ferocity.

Their bodies become slick with sweat and Brienne swipes her tongue up his neck from shoulder to ear. Jaime hisses and arches into her. His skin is salty and she realizes that in all of her fantasies, she’s never thought about how he might taste. She blushes, now, when she thinks of tasting him in other ways. She’s also never imagined the sounds of their sex—the wet slapping of their bodies coming together. Even more aroused, she grips his hips tightly and spreads her legs a little wider, shifting her body to try to stimulate her clit with his body. 

Jaime seems to understand what she’s doing. He shifts his weight to his left forearm and reaches down between them—moving his fingers until he’s touching her where she wants him. His body is over her, blocking almost all the light in the room—making her feel completely enveloped by him. He kisses her neck—just under her ear—while he circles her clit with the pads of his fingers. A slight moan slips out of Brienne and Jaime softly bites her earlobe, eliciting a little gasp from her. He’s touching her more gently than she wants. It feels good but she’s getting antsy, feeling on the edge of climax.

“Jaime,” she says, more breaths than words. “Can you…uh…faster? Harder?”

Jaime lets out a breath in her ear and moves his hand with more intent, keeping a steady pace. It takes almost no time before she’s coming—fingers clutching her bedsheets, and calling out his name a couple of times as her body lifts off the bed and pulses with pleasure—heat radiating out from where they’re joined. Jaime slows his movements for a beat, letting her ride out her orgasm, and then he thrusts forward harder and faster. The punishing pace only lasts a few seconds before his rhythm falters and he’s groaning out his orgasm, too. His body collapses on hers, his forehead pressed to her shoulder.

After he recovers his breath, he pushes up a little, reaching down between them to grip the edge of the condom as he slowly pulls out. Brienne lets out a small sigh at this and Jaime smiles widely as he rolls off of her. She drops her head to the side to look at him. He’s smirking a little, and he cocks a single, self-satisfied eyebrow. 

“You called out my name when you came. You know, I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard when you were in the shower,” he says, smugly, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face.

“Really?” she replies—her tone clearly saying _no shit, Jaime._

“Well, I might need to hear it again. Just to be sure. Give me about thirty minutes.”

*****

So Brienne and Jaime had sex. Finally. That was three months ago. 

So for three months now, Brienne has been Jaime’s girlfriend. For three months they’ve been doing absolutely everything together. She wakes next to him in bed in the morning, and watches while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, before pressing his body into hers. Cereal is replaced by breakfast bars and bagels, shoved in faces while they run late for work. Jaime still insists on controlling the music in the car but most days he puts on her favorite playlist. They meet up with friends and sneak away to make out, their friends exchanging knowing looks. And for three months, now, Brienne’s been allowed to touch Jaime, instead of just looking at him—his golden hair, tan skin and muscles hers to explore. For three months now, Jaime has been telling Brienne that he loves her. That he has loved her for a long time. 

It’s been an absolute dream.


End file.
